


Memory

by Llama1412



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: The man who'd had his memories stolen had made an art form out of stealing the memories of others.
Kudos: 1





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal and whofic.com in 2011. Posted unedited.

Memory. It defines us. In a way, it's the most important thing in the world. It makes us who we are.

He'd lost two years of his memories and that had defined who he'd become. He'd been afraid of what those memories might have held and, as a result, had lashed out at the world. He'd gotten the sour end of the deal one too many times and he'd taken the opportunity to get back at life. Running cons, collecting money, spending it shamelessly, and doing it all again; it had suited him. The hero facade he'd taken on with Rose and the Doctor... he'd loved it. But it had been an awkward fit. He'd been so desperate for approval, for acceptance, that he'd always deferred to the Doctor's authority. And he didn't mind, but even the Doctor could be wrong. And the him back then would not have stood up to the man he regarded with stars in his eyes.

After his death and his newfound life, those two years had become less important. The betrayal he'd felt, the broken hero worship, that had driven him more than the anger at his lost memories.

But he'd never forgotten that empty space. As such, it was rather ironic that he was the one in charge of Retcon. He developed it, he used it, he mastered it. He knew exactly what dosage was needed for what in order to make people forget what he needed them to.

The man who'd had his memories stolen had made an art form out of stealing the memories of others.

He told himself that it had to be done. Humans weren't ready for the world out there. If they remembered, it would only cause panic. It was necessary to Retcon them.

And yet sometimes, in the dead of the night, he wondered if he wasn't just taking that last blow at the world, making others suffer as he had.

Once, he would've had the determination to believe that he was better than that. After 150 years of a life filled with crime, darkness, and death, he could no longer be sure.

They called him a monster, the ones that were supposed to trust him, follow him, believe in him. And he wasn't sure that they were wrong.


End file.
